


Midnight Rose

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M, M/M, Roses, a guessing game, mary angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 05:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: Who's giving John roses? Why would Mary do that? Is it Mary?





	Midnight Rose

A rose, a red rose sits on the book I had left on the kitchen counter last night. Picking it up, taking it to my nose and smiling while I smell it.

How sweet of my darling wife Mary to think of me in this way.

She's left early for the clinic this morning, and I'm about to join her, walking out of the house when my mobile pings.  
It's my partner in crime Sherlock. With a sigh, I look at the text, not sure whether I want to be late for my appointments at the clinic or take on the suspense of a murder case.

         "John, Lestrade called and we have a body at a warehouse in Franklin Street. Will meet you there."  
Before I can say a no he has hung up. Stupid git!

* * *

         "Mary, hon, I'll be late getting in."

         "Sherlock again?" a sigh coming from her lips.  
I shut my mobile and grab my coat and off into the car.

* * *

Darn, forgot to thank Mary for the rose. Ah well, I'll see her tonight.

* * *

         " By the way, Mary," while washing the dishes," thanks for the rose. Awfully thoughtful of you."

         "What rose?"

         "The one you left on my book last night.

         "No idea what you're talking about."

I think she's joking and put it out of my mind.

* * *

That night my mobile pings, and when I look at the illuminated clock face, I see its midnight. The caller says private. What a pain!  
Might as well hit the bathroom, and putting my slippers on I feel something strange in the left one.  
Picking it up, there's a rose in the shoe.  
That morning, getting tea, I thank Mary for her sweetness.

         "John, a rose? Stop this nonsense! I'm not sending you roses," and turning to me, with a scowl on her face,"Okay, what are you trying to pull?"

         "Come on, Mary. How did it get here then?"

         "John Hamish Watson, I have no idea!"

* * *

For the next five nights my mobile again pings at midnight, and again each time there's a rose left someplace in the house.

* * *

One afternoon I'm at a crime scene with Sherlock and Greg Lestrade, the detective. I take Greg aside I to tell him about this silly incident happening to me.

         " It's got to be Mary, John. She's playing with you."

         "Every time I mention it, she gets angry. So I know it's not her."

         "Who else has the keys to your house, and who else knows your phone number?"  


         "Only Sherlock has both."  
Greg smirks, and I gulp.

         "Oh for fuck's sake, it can't be!" Why would he-?"  
Greg pats me on the back, laughing as he leaves the scene.

* * *

Mary has brought home takeaway and eating in silence I know she's upset.  
We clear the food, and Mary asks me to sit with her in the living room.

Taking a chair, not sitting next to me on the sofa, she leans forward, elbows on her knees, staring hard. Her voice is constrained, and I sense ready to burst at any moment.

         "Okay, John, stop this nonsense. You have another woman don't you?"  
My surprise evident on my face.

         "Mary, even if I did how would she get into the house?"

         "You gave her a key for when I'm not home,"standing up and throwing a book at me, which misses just my chest.

         "That's the silliest thing-"

         "Silly, silly? She comes in when you're on your way home from work and gives you a quickie, I hope not on our bed, then leaves", her voice jabbing, yelling.

         "Mary, be reasonable. That's so far-fetched."  
She stomps around the room," far-fetch you say. What else could be the explanation for this?"

         "Okay, let's be logical. If I had another woman I would either take her out someplace or, if I decided to have her in this house I'd be here first. That makes more sense than your deduction, don't you think?"

Into the bedroom and I hear the door lock. Ah well, the spare bedroom for me tonight.

* * *

         "Sherlock, I need to see you tonight. Can I come to your flat?"

         "Problem at home? Not my area, emotions."

         "I'm coming over."

* * *

Once seated in Sherlock's flat I blurt out, "I have something strange happening at my house and I need your input."

All seriousness is written on his face, "I told you I don't get into family squabbles."

         "No, nothing like that, although we are arguing over this."

         "Now, what's this about?"

         "For the past nights' someone, who has a key, has been in my house. Leaving a single red rose. And, my phone beeps at midnight but it shows a private caller. I don't know who or why."

Steepling his hands as he does when deep in thought he looks up at me.

         "I have no conception of what is happening. Might take a bit of deduction on my part. Go home and let me see what I can do."  
Puzzled by Sherlock's quick dismissal I leave.

* * *

A beep on my phone wakes me and I climb out of the bed, disgusted with this whole situation.  
Mary is awake and throws on her robe going into the living room with me.

She stops, turns to me and with a venomous turn of voice," Did you ever think it could be Sherlock?"  
Giving her a wide-eyed astonished look.

         "Yes, Sherlock, your gay lover."

         "Now that's just enough Mary, I won't have you-" getting up from the sofa, fuming, my voice raised.

         "What? You won't have me telling you the truth! Your disgusting obsession with that man! The way you two stare at each other."

Off she heads for our bedroom, slamming the door, and a few minutes later she opens it, "sleep in the guest room," slamming it again.

Okay, time to solve this. And sure enough the next night the mobile rings, at midnight. But this time I'm awake in my chair in the living room, the only light is from the street lamp directly outside our window.  
The key is in the door, and I hear steps.

         "John," a whisper from Sherlock as he steps near me.

         "I thought you'd stay up to decipher this mystery. I'll stay here for awhile and let's see what occurs."

* * *

Nothing happens. No one else enters the house, and at two in the morning, Sherlock leaves, and I, already half asleep lay down on the sofa.

* * *

How in the world? Is Mary right? Is this Sherlock's doing? And why? To accomplish what? I'm married.

* * *

No more midnight wake-up pings.  
The roses continue for who knows how long. I've given up on the meaning or who. Although- I do, no I cannot think about it!

* * *

Mary is non-talkative, and she quits working at the clinic.

         "Mary," what is it?" one evening when she's at home with me.

         "John, I'm getting a divorce. I can't compete with-."

I'm saddened by the events, but let it happen without challenging.

* * *

Walking into the flat at 221B with a small suitcase, "Sherlock, can I move in. You know that Mary and I-."

         "Yes, I know, and yes you can move in."

* * *

That night, in my old bedroom, upstairs in the flat, a dozen roses sit on my bed.

Smiling wryly, I know now where my heart was, always was.

And I step downstairs to thank the man who bought the roses.


End file.
